


The Escapees

by DynaDratina



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom - A. C. Crispin
Genre: Beckabeth, East India Trading Company, Elizabeth/Beckett, F/M, Gen, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, POV Beckett, POV Elizabeth, Pirate Elizabeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14803016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DynaDratina/pseuds/DynaDratina
Summary: Elizabeth managed to get the Letters of Marque from Beckett, but at a price she hadn't accounted for. Twelve years later, Alice and Robert Swann are the core of her being, yet the children long for adventure beyond Port Royal and to find the father she never spoke of. Unfortunately, unresolved tensions are brewing on the seas, and he's on the opposite side. Beckabeth, DMC/AWE AU.





	1. Bargain

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Powers of Persuasion](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/386039) by dreamdescend. 



> This story was inspired by "Powers of Persuasion", in which Elizabeth Swann resorts to a *different* form of negotiation to get Beckett to sign the Letters of Marque in Dead Man's Chest. This is my personal spin-off of that scenario and explores what would happen if Elizabeth and Beckett ended up having two kids.
> 
> I love Will/Elizabeth as the canon pairing (and Henry Turner), but canon is canon and fanfiction is fanfiction. ^_^ This will be a rewrite of the time period covered by At World's End, though it will adhere to the spirit of the movie events. (And yes, I did do all the math/science/logistics and have found a way to make Elizabeth carrying twins during that timeline plausible; I'll elaborate in footnotes when it becomes necessary). I'm a fan of pretty much all the POTC cast, so most of the major characters from AWE will make an appearance here. There will also be some references to "The Price of Freedom" by A. C. Crispin, which explores Jack's backstory with Beckett (and a book I'd definitely recommend).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

: : : : : : : : : :

**The Escapees**

: : : : : : : : : : ******  
******

 

_"Why fight when you can negotiate?"_

_\- Captain Jack Sparrow_

\+ + + +

 

 

**1.  
**

_Honoured Sir_ ,

 _I hope this letter finds you in good Prosperity and Health. I have requested it to be given directly to your trusted Agent,_ [scratched out] _for personal delivery as it concerns a matter highly sensitive to me._

_I pray you will forgive my boldness in writing to you. I suspect it was your intention upon our parting to never set eyes on me again, which I had indeed understood to follow from the temporary nature of our concluded agreement. In this vein I would also like to express my gratitude to you for fulfilling your promised end of it and for showing mercy to my family._

_However a certain matter has since arisen and I found I could not in clear conscience withhold from you this information. Namely, in the months after we parted I discovered that_ [scratched out] _Namely I was certain that you would wish to be informed of a certain Change in Affairs within the Household of the Governor of Port Royal, currently under your Supervision_ [scratched out] _informed that I recently_ [scratched out] _informed of two Children born on the Sixth Day of this previous April_ [scratched out]. _Forgive my frankness again, but there has been nobody else except for you so by all rights you are their Father._

 _I confess that I find myself at a loss for adequate words to express myself, and I daren't trust those which presently do come to mind, for fear that they will seem to you trite and silly. But I flatter myself in hoping that you will perhaps find to be of interest the affairs of the Boy and Girl, whom I have named_ [scratched out] [scratched out]

 _I do not presume to ask anything of you, Sir, and shan't take up your time but to ask for your most valuable Guidance and Advice_ [scratched out] _and in any case I would be grateful for your taking to Heart_ [scratched out]

[Several more drafted lines scratched out to the point of illegibility].

 _Ever your Fr_ [scratched out] _Yours affecti_ [scratched out] _Yours respectf_ [scratched out]

[Page abandoned].

. . .

 _Honoured S_ [scratched out]

 _L_ [scratched out]

[Several lines scratched out]

_I must confess I do not know why I am writing this. It is probably of no interest to you, and I have already resigned myself to the fact that I will likely never find the strength in me to send it. But if you could only see me now, how my pen hangs here over each clean page I take, then perhaps you would know how difficult after all it is for me to speak to you. Words fail me. I am faced with an utter stranger._

_But nonetheless, the Truth shall remain with me. The only thing keeping me from revealing it is knowing the undue Harm it would cause._

_The Children_ [scratched out] [scratched out] _but as I have resolved, neither of them shall know and I am convinced that they shall be better off for it._

_I hope you are pleased with yourself. No, I am certain you are._

[Several more lines written and scratched out]. [Several ink drops]. [Dried tear drops].

[Page abandoned].

 

: : : : : : : : ** **  
****

**Five Months Earlier**

Elizabeth was back in Port Royal. The cloak she had been given hid her face and clothes well, but she had to stifle the recurring urge to walk quickly. Thankfully no one had cast her a second glance at the docks, and the people on the streets probably thought she was just a poor woman on a daytime search for a tavern. Indeed, her outer appearance supported the disguise, her skin pale and her eyes squinty from prolonged lack of light.

The town hadn't changed much. If anything, it looked... cleaner. More orderly. The streets had been swept and many buildings in the business district had been repainted. The clock tower in the center square had been washed and polished, a garden of colorful flowers and palms surrounding it. The streets were alive with carriages and carts, men and women casually going about their business. Though Elizabeth's gaze never missed the posters – wanted posters, pasted on walls at nearly every major gathering point, bearing the faces of burglars, outlaws, pirates.

Elizabeth proceeded through the streets, heading to the north side of town, until finally she caught sight of her destination rising up on a hill: the governor's mansion.

She ascended the gradual incline, walking alongside the road. Here, carriages and people grew sparse and the greenery thickened, as the town faded to make way for the presiding family's private property. At last Elizabeth glimpsed the tall iron gates, beyond them a vast lawn with shrubs and palm trees bordering the dirt pathway. The windows of the gray mansion were all closed, blankly reflecting the daylight. Elizabeth approached the bars of the gate, but she couldn't see anyone roaming about, not a single servant or gardener.

Then, suddenly, a slip of black and red caught her eye. Elizabeth turned left to see a young soldier round the inner curve of the fence, emerging from behind a clump of trees. The black was his tricorne hat and tunic, the red in the sleeve cuffs and collar, also bordering the golden buttons down the front. He had a musket in his hand and was marching along the perimeter, his gaze focused ahead. He gradually approached the gates and passed by the spot where Elizabeth was standing. His gaze slid to her, and Elizabeth looked at him as well. His face was unfamiliar. The soldier tightened his grip on his musket in warning, then kept going.

He did another round about the property, infuriatingly slow, disappearing behind the large house before coming back around the way he had come. When he saw that Elizabeth was still there, he slowed to a stop.

"This isn't a museum, Madam," he said.

"I live here!" Elizabeth replied.

"I don't think so." The soldier kept walking.

Elizabeth's heart hammered and she pounded her hands against the iron bars. "My name is Elizabeth Swann!"

The soldier paused. After a moment, he turned around, blinking at her in puzzlement. He started to walk back towards her. But just as he reached the bars again, his gaze shifted from Elizabeth to something behind her. His eyes widened and he stepped back out of reflex, and moments later Elizabeth felt a hand grab her shoulder.

_"Elizabeth!"_

Elizabeth jumped, whirling around to the person who had caught her. She was in such shock that it took her a moment to recognize the face.

It was her father.

. . .

Governor Weatherby Swann ordered the soldier to open the gates. The soldier complied, unlocking them and heaving them open one by one. Elizabeth turned back to see her father's carriage stopped a little ways down the road, another black-uniformed soldier at the reins and looking at them in surprise. Weatherby beckoned for him to keep going and escorted Elizabeth into the house on foot.

The soldier who had been patrolling the perimeter of the fence followed them inside. He continued to eye Elizabeth warily, but said nothing as he followed them into the Swanns' parlor. Weatherby dismissed the butler, who had been dusting the furniture, and waved to the soldier as well. The soldier went to the doors, but instead of leaving, he simply closed them and stationed himself beside them.

Left relatively alone, Weatherby turned to Elizabeth and placed his hands on her shoulders, gaze running over the dirty fabric of the cloak. "Elizabeth, I was so worried about you! Did Lord Beckett send you here?"

Elizabeth's blood went cold for a moment. Then she willed it away and swallowed. "No. No, I found my way here on my own."

Her father frowned in puzzlement. "I had thought..."

"What?" Elizabeth looked at her father, fear stirring inside her. Did he know something?

But a moment later, her father's expression mellowed out and he smiled. "It doesn't matter. I'm glad you chose to come home." He hugged her. Elizabeth hugged him back, washed over with gratitude and relief. But still, something felt strange. Her father looked well, but he was tense. He kept casting glances to the soldier who was standing at the door, aloof and yet watching them, holding his musket cordially at his side. Elizabeth's gaze flickered to the black straps that crisscrossed his chest on the front. There was a large metal clip pinned to them, bearing a three-spoked emblem with letters. _EICo._ The logo of the East India Trading Company.

Elizabeth turned back to her father. "How long have you been here?"

"A good month," Weatherby replied. "They've... put me under house arrest. All my correspondence is monitored and I'm not allowed to see anybody without permission. Nor is anybody else here." He cast another glance at the soldier, who stood as still and silent as before.

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked.

Weatherby shook his head. "It's better that you don't know. Some plans of the Company's. I... I'm not allowed to say."

"Then don't say it, Governor," the soldier warned.

Elizabeth's head snapped in his direction. Her heart had begun to beat a bit faster. What were their plans? Had they managed to track down the other Pirate Lords?

The soldier went back to being a statue, and Elizabeth turned away again, thoughts churning. It didn't matter. At this point, the best thing she could do for them and for herself was to stay in hiding. Everyone still had their Pieces of Eight, including her, and that meant it was her responsibility to keep it safe until it was needed. As well as keep her information safe, and that meant herself.

Looking back up at her father, Elizabeth managed a smile and nodded. "You don't have to tell me anything, Father. And you won't have to worry about my safety any longer. I will stay here."

A smile broke across Weatherby's wrinkled features and he kissed her head. "How... how is Mr. Turner doing?" he asked, attempting a change in subject. "Is he well?"

Elizabeth's smile faltered. "I haven't seen Will in a while. I don't know where he is."

"Oh. Well, I'm certain we'll receive word eventually."

Elizabeth nodded again. "I hope so."

Weatherby sent for the maids, and they took Elizabeth up to her room, where they helped her undress and gave her a bath, just like they had always done. The peaceful environment of her spacious, sunlit home was a jarring contrast to the world she had left what seemed like mere moments ago. She had been standing in Shipwreck Cove as Pirate King of the Brethren Court, had declared war and ordered the release of Calypso, when suddenly a group of lookouts had come rushing in and reported that Lord Beckett's armada had traveled much faster and farther than they had accounted for. The five-hundred-or-so-ship-strong force with the _Endeavour_ and _Dutchman_ in the lead was gaining on the island and was making moves to encircle it. The Pirate Lords had erupted in panic and outrage. There was no way they could prepare their vessels for battle formation in time. So instead of fighting, they all retreated to their own ships and fled the island, each to his or her own devices.

All exactly as Calypso had divined.

Worse, the Pirate Lords had all taken their Pieces of Eight with them, making her release impossible, and thus nullified the only reasonable chance the Brethren had to fight the Armada.

In other words, the Brethren's gathering had been a failure. They had come so close to mounting a counterattack that Elizabeth had begun to feel the adrenaline of battle creep into her, the desire and anticipation of getting a long-awaited task over with. Then, at the last moment, their spark had fizzled and died.

She had stepped down into the brig of the _Black Pearl_ feeling confused and forlorn, Sao Feng's necklace clutched in her hand, knowing that all of it had been inevitable and yet unable to come to grips that it had happened. From within the bars of her cell, Tia Dalma simply looked out at her with a calm gaze. The revelation that this woman, the strange voodoo magician, was the imprisoned goddess had surprised Elizabeth, though in retrospect she knew it probably shouldn't have. Indeed, she gave off an aura of serenity, but beneath that, Elizabeth had realized, there was a shiftiness and darkness, much like the waters themselves.

Tia Dalma had made a promise to help Elizabeth, in exchange for Elizabeth helping her. And the time had come for their bargain to begin.

So, while the unsuspecting crew of the _Black Pearl_ scrambled around deck and Jack and Barbossa argued over the ship's new course, they had made their preparations. Not long after, in the dead of night, Elizabeth had quietly lowered a rowboat into the water and rowed it away with a few gentle strokes, pieces of cloth tied around the oarlocks to muffle the sounds. One moment she had been ducking down beside Tia Dalma to hide herself, watching the _Black Pearl_ slowly fade into the distance, then darkness had crashed over her entire awareness and she had drifted off into a deep sleep. She had only woken once their boat was drifting through the familiar misty river leading up to Tia Dalma's cottage. There, the months had passed. No word of trouble had ever come; the Pirate Lords had vanished without a trace, and it seemed that the Company had stopped its search for them. But Elizabeth knew that wasn't the case. The Brethren had simply left the would-be battle in a stalemate; sooner or later, something would have to break it.

She just didn't know what.

But in any case, a plan was a plan. Perhaps the Brethren would reconvene in the meantime and call to their newly-elected King on their own, perhaps they wouldn't. And Elizabeth knew she would have a lot to take care of, anyway.

After her bath, Elizabeth combed out her hair and put on one of her old, customary dresses and proceeded to meet her father for a much-awaited meal. Weatherby was about to lead her to the dining room, but right before descending the staircase, he stopped.

"There is... something else you should know about," he began, a bit tentatively.

Elizabeth looked at him. "What is it?"

Weatherby turned and led her to one of the guest bedrooms. Inside was her maid, Estrella. She was holding a baby and cooing to it gently. Another one lay in an adjacent crib, one of two that had been positioned near the bed. Elizabeth felt her stomach drop.

"We found them," said Weatherby. "A boy and a girl. They were lying on our doorstep earlier this month and we took them in. We haven't been able to find their parents."

Slowly Elizabeth approached Estrella and looked down at the child in her arms. Its tiny body was swaddled in blankets, its head covered by a frilly white cap. Its eyes were closed. The one in the crib was sleeping as well.

"We were going to put them in an orphanage," said Estrella. "But they've been very well behaved and we've grown rather fond of them. I suggest we should keep them at least for another month, but after that, of course, we'll leave it up to you and the governor whether to keep them, Miss Swann."

Elizabeth stood frozen over the crib, back rigid. "Do they have names?"

"No, Miss Swann. In truth, we were less focused on naming them and more on feeding them."

Elizabeth turned around to look at Estrella and her father. "Well... our house is a rather empty one anyway," she said. "And I hate the thought of what would happen to them if we simply let them go with no one left in the world. I think we should take care of them. As wards. For now, at least."

Estrella smiled, then looked to Weatherby. The governor smiled slightly as well and shrugged a shoulder. "Well, I have no objections."

Elizabeth turned back to the crib, hoping that the swell of relief inside of her was sufficiently masked. She wondered what it was about them that had stirred her father's heart. Perhaps he had just been so concerned about his only child's well-being that it had triggered parental feelings towards these new ones.

Finally, she straightened and turned to them with a smile. "In that case, I suppose we should name them, then."

Weatherby clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, I don't have any ideas… Do you?"

"Hm..." Elizabeth looked up at the ceiling, speaking slowly and trying not to sound as if she had had them in her head the whole time. "How about... Robert. And Alice."

: : : : : : : : ** **  
****

She had been given the choice between family and mission. She had chosen family. Hadn't that been the right thing?

Her father would have definitely thought so. It was the choice he himself had made, after all, going into Beckett's service simply to get her home safe again. And now here she was, safe at home again, and by her own free will, too. Certainly, she could have stayed on the _Black Pearl_ and sailed off with Jack and the others, but with no plan and no fleet and no organization in sight, their voyage would have descended into years of meaningless drifting. No one would have known where they were, and she wouldn't know where anybody else was. But she did know that she had a caring father worrying about her. So Elizabeth had done the right thing and gone home to look for him.

And hadn't it been what Will had done as well? All throughout their voyage to rescue Jack, he had been nothing short of possessed by the thought of saving his father from the _Dutchman_. In fact, he had probably struck some kind of deal with Beckett himself, though Elizabeth could only surmise what it had been about. She remembered Jack's remark in Shipwreck Cove that whoever betrayed their location was likely someone not among them. _("Where's Will?"_ she had asked. _"Not among us,"_ Jack had replied.)

Elizabeth's emotions were a tangle of hurt and understanding. Will's express purpose for accompanying them to World's End had been to save his father, so his deal with Beckett must have been towards that end, his father's freedom in exchange for the Brethren's location. Elizabeth could understand him because she knew she would have stopped at nothing to save her own father if he had been captured and imprisoned somewhere. Even if it meant sacrificing herself.

Because ironically, she had already done it.

Even now, nearly a year later, Elizabeth flushed at the memory. She knew it had seemed like the only option available to her at the time, but now, with hindsight and the buffer of several months giving clarity to her thoughts, she wasn't sure if it had been the preferable option at all. She didn't know what her father would say to know what she had done to save him from arrest in the first place, though she was now theoretically free to tell him at any moment, to walk into his room (if he wasn't in the children's room playing with them), and tell him who their parents were.

No, she would never do that.

He would never find out, and neither would the children. Why would she tell them that their father was someone who was after both her and her family? Who had once had the express intention of hanging her and probably wouldn't flinch from it had he been given the opportunity now? Who had never regarded her as more than a means to an end, the same way she had regarded him, and who wouldn't even want them? No, better to raise them with no father at all and have them think that their parents were two good people, who loved them and each other with all their hearts but sadly due to a twist of fates were no longer around to take care of them. Such was fate, after all. And they would learn sooner or later that order to change an entire course of events, all it took was a touch.

A touch of destiny.

Elizabeth had started several drafts of a letter early on, but then finally she gave up and locked them away


	2. Pirates and Patrolmen

Twelve years passed.

Waves crashed against the lonely volcanic crater jutting out of the Caribbean Sea. Each hiss and surge brought water coursing through the cracks in the rock, running through its numerous hidden channels and turning into a large freshwater lake. At its center stood a towering structure assembled from stone and parts of ships, its torches extinguished, wooden docks deserted. Shipwreck City had been all but swept clean, and when it became clear to the invaders that there was nothing to find inside but empty taverns and armories, they left.

Some patrol ships from the East India Company lingered in the area for a few years, but when it became clear that the island's inhabitants would not return, they left as well. The Pirate Lords themselves had all fled into hiding, none of them informing the others where they had gone.

Other than a locked chest of weapons and a set of Singaporean warrior attire hidden in a closet, no visible trace remained of the Pirate King. Had anyone visited her in Port Royal, all they would see was a normal, proper family, albeit one with a few more guards than seemed necessary. Even if someone from the Company had come to interrogate her, they wouldn't have any reason to suspect that she had done anything since the voyage to Isla de Muerta over a decade ago. No one would have any reason to think that a lady in a nice dress with her hair up had clashed swords with marines, fought the Kraken, had gone to Davy Jones' locker and back.

The memory of those few troubled days during the Company's arrival in Port Royal had all but faded from the townspeople's minds. They had noticed a man in a black cloak galloping on a horse from the harbor, a crowd of wedding guests being ushered out of a church, and a large house, nearly equal to the governor's mansion in splendor and elegance, being furnished and tended to by troupes of servants filing in and out of its gates.

But then, like a fleeting rainstorm, the whispers over these events died down. Neither the search-through of the town by Company soldiers, nor the seemingly-random arrests, nor the horse galloping through the docks were repeated. Even the period of mass sentencings and hangings that had followed shortly after was willingly forgotten, covered up in public conversation like an embarrassing stain until time itself washed it away. The house at the foot of the large hill now stood empty and locked, its unknown inhabitant absent.

Still, the mark of his presence remained. The state of emergency he had declared all those years ago remained in effect, and all throughout, the town's official notice boards and institutions relayed its message: Piracy would not be tolerated.

: : : : : : : :

One spring morning, a midshipman by the name of Mullroy was standing on the dock of the HMS _Lady Jane_ in the Port Royal harbor, accompanied by his friend, Midshipman Murtogg. Both of them sported their black-and-red Company uniforms, their muskets casually held at their sides.

It was a beautiful day – the sky was clear, the bay bright and glimmering, the numerous merchant ships and naval vessels tied up at the piers casting a web of colorful reflections on the water. A steady breeze blew through, bringing a stir to the palm leaves, though already Mullroy could feel the heat of the approaching summer and the urge to retreat into the shady overhang beneath the dock. The practice was technically frowned upon, but after nearly fifteen years of service in the same port, a newbie's nervousness faded.

They paced about the boardwalk for a while, empty except for them and a few barrels, the masts and topsails of the _Lady Jane_ peeking up at them from the water level below. She was a fifth-rate frigate, one of the many EITC ships whose black-and-yellow hulls dominated the western half of the harbor. Their watch beside her had started at dawn, right as the nearby civilian docks had begun to liven up with activity, merchant crews unloading new arrivals while others prepared to leave. A few hours later some men from the _Lady Jane_ had come to load some provisions, as they had been doing over the days in preparation for their upcoming voyage. Then towards midday, Mullroy and Murtogg had been switched out, which meant that they were free to do whatever they wanted, though they always ended up lingering around the harbor and the ship crews anyhow.

They went into a nearby coffeehouse for their midday meal, passing by groups of Company and Navy men going about their daily duties. From the window by their favorite table they could see their deserted pier as well as the bay beyond it. One departing ship was currently taking advantage of the wind, her crew executing elaborate maneuvers to ride it out of the mouth between the cliffsides. Mullroy watched the men in admiration as they ran to and fro adjusting sails, his gaze lingering on the ship as it swerved into open waters.

The other personnel passing by didn't give the worn-out sight much attention. They hustled about with their carts and ropes, concentrating near two other ships docked on either side of the _Lady Jane._ One was a large third-rate Navy ship, significantly better armed and built for sea battles. The other was also a ship-of-the-line, a bulky and well-armed Company cargo vessel. But between them the _Lady Jane_ retained her dignity, her hull gleaming with its fresh coat of paint and her new sails neatly furled. She had a perfect balance of speed and firepower and helped defend the Company's most valuable convoys.

Sadly, however, Mullroy and Murtogg would no longer be joining her on her voyages. The _Lady Jane's_ new captain had been making frantic revisions to the vessel's crew and for some reason had chosen to leave the two midshipmen ashore. Their previous captain, Lieutenant Groves, had taken them into his crew with good cheer, promising them both advancements in rank if they worked hard. But after a few years he was suddenly transferred somewhere else, and one Mr. Peterson had come in to replace him.

Granted, Mullroy hadn't minded who his captain was. Sailing on the _Lady Jane_ would always be preferable to sailing aboard the _Endeavour,_ the EITC's flagship. There he and Murtogg had been utterly anonymous; no one but the late Admiral Norrington had even referred to them by the right surnames. And anything was better than standing at attention against a rotting, moss-covered wall of a cursed ship, watching while one's superiors negotiated with a crew of slimy, wriggly fish-people. Barnacles and starfish growing on their skin, bodies contorted into crab arms and conch shell heads… It still made him shudder to think about it. So when the _Endeavour_ had finally parted ways with the _Flying Dutchman_ and they were given some freedom to decide where they wanted to be stationed next, Mullroy and Murtogg had both happily signed back on to the menial side of business: the guarding and the transporting. They had gone with Lieutenant Groves to the _Lady Jane,_ and had resolved to stay aboard her even after Mr. Peterson had come.

Allegedly this new captain was trying to redeem himself after losing a large portion of cargo, which was why he was so preoccupied with making his new assignment a success. He had thoroughly interviewed the _Lady Jane's_ crew to learn of their histories and had dismissed over twenty men, but had consoled them by writing good comments about them in his reassignment reports: _'Proven able seaman with impressive fortitude in crises.'_ ' _Demonstrated impeccable navigational skills during the evasion of attacks.'_

Mullroy's description read: ' _Demonstrated loyalty.'_

He had looked at Murtogg's report and it had said the same thing.

And so the two of them had found themselves transferred to harbor duty, where they watched their former crewmates run up and down the pier, already in the habit of ignoring them. A few weeks later the _Lady Jane_ would leave, and they would be assigned to guard another ship. Then another.

Mullroy sighed, trying to push the thought from his mind by rubbing his eyes. He focused his attention back to the table of finished food, where Murtogg was sipping his coffee contentedly, also looking at the docks outside.

"I wonder why ours is always empty," Murtogg remarked.

"I suppose it's a good thing," Mullroy replied. "It means their business is running smoothly."

Murtogg frowned. "And that it could attract unwanted attention."

Mullroy didn't say anything, but he knew what his friend was talking about. He had been glimpsing them over the days too – the same two children roaming the length of the harbor together, a boy and a girl. They came in from the town every morning right as he and Murtogg went to start their shifts, that blue tricorne hat and the long dress flickering in and out of view behind the uniformed crews. Their keen faces had poked out from behind the palm trees near the buildings and appeared from the lower dock level as they traversed the sandy shores in the unguarded spaces between the ships.

It wasn't an odd occurrence per se, though each sighting gave Mullroy a slight worry that they would next turn up somewhere more restricted and sensitive. But he calmed himself with the thought that they would eventually find another playing grounds.

Until, when they had left the coffeehouse and started back in the direction of the ships, Murtogg suddenly froze in his tracks. Being the taller and sharper-eyed of the two, he usually spotted things first, and when Mullroy's gaze flickered to the spot his friend was looking at, he stopped as well.

To the left, behind a group of marching marines, came a flicker of blue and a long pink skirt. Moments later, sure as day, the figures of two young adolescents came into view walking side-by-side. They were coming from the direction of the merchant docks, and they were walking completely normally, casual and slow as if strolling through a garden. The boy's hat covered a head of long, straw-colored hair and matched the dark blue of his overcoat. The girl had a white knitted shawl tied around her waist, her dark brown hair pinned back neatly.

But it wasn't that simple. As they drew closer, Mullroy noticed that the boy was keeping his left elbow pressed to the side of his coat, as if hiding something behind it. And the girl's dress had some tears and dirt stains near the hem, as if its owner had been darting through underbrush, specifically the underbrush that Mullroy knew occurred in frequent patches behind the merchant docks, providing plenty of hiding space.

He watched them as they ventured farther into their harbor section, exchanging light conversation. At one point the boy turned around to point up at the neighboring naval ship, and right then Mullroy saw that there was indeed something hidden beneath his overcoat – the hilt of a sword. Mullroy's quick once-over registered no sheath and what appeared to be a wooden blade before the boy turned back around and his thin frame hid it from view.

Murtogg shifted his stance and swallowed. "I think we might have a situation."

The way he said the word made something flash in Mullroy's mind. Not quite a memory, but a familiar feeling. His eyes found Murtogg and narrowed pensively. "A situation?"

Murtogg gave a mute nod.

Mullroy looked back at the children. They had passed by them without a glance and continued down the road, observing the ships and crews from an as-yet-innocent distance. The boy had a long grass blade he had torn off from somewhere and was holding it like an aristocrat's pipe, biting on it occasionally. The girl followed him with her hands folded primly over the shawl, her gaze following the things the boy was pointing to.

The children went about a third of the way in before turning around. No one stopped them, none of the other captains or lieutenants having paid them any mind. Nor on their part did the children seem to have expected any kind of interference. They steadily made their way back towards the _Lady Jane_ , at which point they turned their attention to the two midshipmen, gazes flickering to the long, empty section of boardwalk behind them.

Instantly, Mullroy backed up towards the pier, tightening his grip on his musket. Murtogg did the same, and together they formed a clumsy two-person fence. The children looked at them for a moment, then then the boy stepped forward, putting the tip of the grass blade into his mouth. A pair of slate gray eyes met Mullroy's.

"'Allo."

Mullroy did not respond, doing his best to make sure his face looked stern and discouraging. He wanted to go alert the guards on duty below, but he also knew it was too late for that. The boy continued to chew on the grass blade in the meantime, gaze sliding up in a fluid motion to the _Lady Jane_. He placed his hands on his sides as he examined her, looking rather like a horse breeder surveying a new specimen. Mullroy shifted his stance, feeling oddly protective.

But the boy said nothing, and after a moment he calmly lowered his head and stepped back. The girl stood where she was, doing a more abbreviated survey of the _Lady Jane_ and giving the midshipmen a neutral once-over. Up close her face was strikingly similar to the boy's, clearly too much to be a coincidence.

At last, the children turned to leave, the girl striding off after the boy and adjusting her grip on her shawl. And right then Mullroy glimpsed the hilt of the wooden sword that she was hiding as well, the thin blade – if one could call it that – nestled within the folds of her skirt.

The children exited the dock and turned right, heading up the street into the town. At one point the boy stopped to do a little dance, hopping in place and lifting his feet, while the girl watched in annoyance. Then suddenly, something fell out from inside his coat. There was a flash of brass and a light clink as the object clattered to the ground, and the boy reached down to snatch it up, flustered. The girl rushed to his side and began to chide him, before the boy slipped the object away again and grudgingly resumed walking. But Mullroy had had time to study it, and realized he recognized it.

The children hurried towards the buildings at a quicker pace and were swallowed by the crowds. At this point Mullroy turned his head, heart thumping a bit faster, and saw Murtogg looking at him as well.

"Likely we do have a situation," Mullroy admitted.

"Rather, not us personally, but in the more general sense of 'someone'," Murtogg added.

Mullroy cast a glance to the nearby merchant ships. "But if somebody had a situation, they would have to have already recognized it was a situation and taken measures to address it."

Murtogg blinked a few times. "So they don't know it's a situation."

Mullroy nodded. "Yes."

There was a pause.

"But we know it's a situation," Murtogg said.

Mullroy thought this over and nodded again. "Yes."

"Would that make it our situation?"

The two guards exchanged another glance.

: : : : : : : :

Allie Swann followed after her brother as they exited the dock area and neared the town. Their prolonged stroll around the ships might as well have lasted days; her heart was hammering, her head spinning, the strands of her patience nearly snapped from the constant stress of looking over her shoulder while trying to make it look inconspicuous. Thankfully she could summon up a calm face when a situation required it, but still it wouldn't make her numb to her anxiousness. Her gaze kept trailing back to Rob's left elbow, where he was still clamping his coat to his side, and she prayed with all her might that the boy wouldn't be so reckless as to let it go again.

The spyglass that was hidden there had cost them quite a lot – nearly three days' worth of watching the crew of an enormous merchant ship unloading their cargo, hustling with crates and barrels of various sizes and loading them onto carriages. The captain would speak with the carriage drivers, and the carriage drivers would open the crates to inspect their contents, which turned out to be various furniture pieces and mechanical instruments from Europe.

That morning, by sheer luck, one of the crewmen doing the unloading had tripped over a loose cobblestone and dropped his crate, sending a cascade of brass spyglasses spilling onto the ground. The first had bounced and shattered immediately; the rest skittered off in various directions. An argument had ensued, the carriage men and captain shouting at each other, before finally the crew cleaned up the mess and the carriage had driven off, leaving the crate of damaged wares to stand aside by the dock. It was then that Rob had dove out of their hiding place behind some palm trees, snatched a spyglass that had rolled unnoticed into the grass, and run off. The lens was unbroken, the body made of light brass with the manufacturer's emblem engraved near the rim. No one had seen them, but as such things went, that didn't mean they had come out clean. Yet.

Now, with the docks behind them and the buildings embracing them protectively on both sides, Allie turned all the way around, walking backwards on her toes to survey the surroundings. "Are you sure nobody's following us?" she asked Rob.

Rob kept a casual pace, choosing to keep looking ahead. "Yes, I'm sure. I told you, Allie – if we had run, we'd've been caught for _certain._ Running means you're either frightened or you're guilty. And back there I think the verdict would've been guilty." He cast her a glance and shrugged with a matter-of-fact smile.

Allie pursed her lips in response. She continued to follow him up the street, one hand holding the skirt of her dress to keep her sword hidden. "Still, we didn't have to linger by every ship like a pair of inspectors!"

"But none of them were here last month!" Rob protested. "It's a completely new command. And that second-to-last one, didn't you see her? A sixty-gun fifth-rate! She was beautiful! How many Company fifth-rates have we seen before? That's right, nearly none because the Company usually wants more cargo room at the expense of speed. All showy with their ships-of-the-line… At least the Navy's got variety. Which reminds me, next time I think we should try to get aboard one. Ask one of those guards for a tour."

Allie rolled her eyes. "Cap'n, with all due respect, I don't think we should start distracting ourselves now. Let's get the cargo to safety and wrap up _this_ mission first."

Rob let out a sigh. "Ah, stow it already, ye yellow-bellied landman," he said, voice adopting an exaggerated, drawn-out accent. He squinted as he surveyed the people on the streets. "No one's followin' us. Besides, it's booty, not cargo."

"Fine, _booty!_ And stop walking so quickly!" Allie hurried after him as he finally hopped off of the dirt roadway and strode onto the sidewalk.

Right then, the loud clap of horse's hooves issued from the street, and Allie turned her head just as a large open carriage sped past them. Her eyes darted to the people sitting inside and she recognized the ship captain and the driver, along with a few other men. She gave a little gasp, freezing in her tracks as she watched them drive down towards the docks.

Rob looked after them as well, blinking. "That be most likely them…" he stated in his pirate accent.

Allie nodded. "Aye. So it is."

The children exchanged a glance. Rob pursed his lips and began to back away. "Then we'd better…" He paused. His gaze went to the street again and a frown creased his forehead. "Hold on. Why are they stopping?"

"Eh?" Allie turned.

The carriage had stopped in the middle of the street, where she could make out the figures of two EITC guards waving their arms about and calling something to the drivers. One was tall and lanky, the other shorter and stockier. The carriage slowed to a halt and the two guards approached, entering a rapid exchange with the people sitting inside. The passengers' heads turned, and with the street running in a perfectly straight line, their gazes all landed on Allie and Rob.

A moment later, the two guards broke away from the carriage and hurried in their direction.

Allie stumbled back. "Oh no! It's those two!" She collided with Rob and gripped his elbow. "Orders, Cap'n?"

 _"Run!"_ Rob spun around on his toe, and within the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Allie reacted a split second later and broke into a run after him, hands gathering the skirts of her dress. The two guards chased after them in a frantic chorus of boots, though thankfully they did not appear to be very fast – when she stole a glance over her shoulder, she saw them at about the same distance as before, awkwardly dodging passersby and clutching their muskets.

"Enemy falling behind!" she called to Rob. "Let's make them lose us!"

"Market!" Rob replied.

He quickened his pace and Allie responded in stride, the both of them veering left at the end of the street. Soon the crowds grew more concentrated and stands with fruits and vegetables began to appear on either side of them. Allie's gaze flickered out of necessity to the ground as she hopped around baskets and fallen produce, darting up just in time to dodge people's elbows. At one point she stepped on the hem of her own skirt and nearly tripped, but managed to regain her balance and gather it up again. All the while she felt the heavy wooden sword bump annoyingly against her side, just barely held down by the belt beneath her shawl. She had suggested they use sticks, but no-o! _Real swords!_ Rob had said. Everything had to be real for that bloody idiot. Even if it meant that she had to wait for him to buy blocks of wood then spend hours watching him whittle them to the proper shape, referring to instruction books to attempt to learn an ancient, delicate craft in the space of a few days. He wouldn't stop until he had gotten them exactly right and had carved a nice pretty design into each pommel. And heaven forbid she ever told him to hurry up – she'd get a five-minute lecture on how important it was to take things seriously and that if you did things higgledy-piggledy you weren't doing them at all.

Once they were a good ways into the market, Allie stole another glance back. The two guards had gone after them as planned, and despite their resolve the commotion was beginning to overwhelm them. She saw the tall one jump aside as a stray cat ran past and the short one accidentally get the tip of his bayonet caught in a sheet of linen hanging from a line.

Her heart gave an elated flutter. "It's working, Cap'n!" she called.

"Good!" came Rob's voice. "Keep her so, then adjust course to north!"

They kept running, tracing a complicated beeline through the crowds, and made a right turn at the next street. Here the people were sparser and they sped up, using the open space to cover as much ground as possible. Rob was no longer hiding the spyglass but was clutching it securely in his hand. At last they stumbled to a stop at the end of the block, where at last the rising hills of the northern part of town came into view, and took a moment to catch their breaths.

Rob looked up at the hills and grinned. "Almost there. But we can't dally yet." He glanced over at the distant market street, where the guards did not reappear.

Allie was looking around as well, surveying the buildings and passersby around them, who as of yet did not seem to attach much significance to them. Then suddenly, her gaze caught a fleck of blue and gold from an opposite alleyway. It was a gathering of Navy men – two officers and six marines, all conferring close together. One of the officers had a face she recognized. He was surveying the street intently as well, and right then, as if destiny ordained, their gazes met.

A chill crept down Allie's spine. She gripped her brother's arm. "Rob. Enemy sail ho, due west."

Rob blinked and turned his head in the direction she was looking. When he saw the officers, he gave a reflexive little jump, eyes widening in panic. "I'll be damned! What are they doing here?!" He slipped the spyglass back into his coat, but it was too late. The officer had seen them. He whispered to the other officer and the red-coated marines began to stir from their places.

"Following us, most likely!" Allie responded.

"But how did they know what we did?"

"Maybe it's because he was the same person who was on guard in the naval docks for the past week?" Allie slapped her forehead, wincing as everything fell into place. "Blast it! They knew we were watching that ship! They were just waiting for us to do something!"

Rob lowered his head, gaze flickering to and fro across the ground while he contemplated. "Act calm," he said. "Act calm. I have a plan."

"What is it?"

"Just follow me." He tugged on her arm, and Allie slipped after him into a side alleyway.

They slunk in between the buildings, making abrupt turns with their heads ducked and eyes squinted. It was an illogical defensive reflex, much like an ostrich sticking its head into the sand, but in moments like this, Allie didn't care. At last the dirt road beneath their feet faded for the cobblestones of the middle of town, and Allie looked up to see that they had reached a familiar, narrow street of shops.

"We'll go to Doyle's," Rob explained in a whisper. "We give it to him, have him hold onto it, and come back for it a few days later."

"Are you sure he'll take it from us?" Allie said.

"Of course. We'll be convincing."

Allie was silent, hurrying after Rob until their destination came into view – a squat brick building standing somewhat separate from the others, surrounded by modest shrubbery. The sign _Fine Antiques_ gleamed over the entrance doors. Rob looked around a few times to make sure there was no one watching them, then beckoned to her.

Allie followed him to the entrance, and right then her gaze alighted on a new sign that was affixed beside the left window: NO CHILDREN.

She bit her lip. "Oh no… He's angry with us."

Rob cast the sign a glance, but didn't seem moved by it and proceeded to open the doors. Allie reluctantly followed him through.

Inside, they were greeted by a spacious, silent kingdom of mahogany wood. Bookshelves and cabinets loomed over them from all sides, tiny treasures glimmering out from their bellies – exotic figurines, porcelain eggs, tea cups on matching plates. Farther in was a section of display tables that held larger items, such as globes and bottle ships, all made with intricate detail. Allie's favorite item was an enormous scale replica of the HMS _Dauntless,_ the hundred-gun warship that had been the pride of Port Royal before it was destroyed by a hurricane in the previous decade. When she was eight she had asked Mr. Doyle if the model still technically counted as an antique, which he hadn't seemed too eager to answer. Then she had spun a globe too fast and accidentally detached it from its axis, making it fall to the floor and causing Mr. Doyle to grab fistfuls of his wig.

They waited in the front room for a while, but there was no stir from within. "Mr. Doyle?" Rob called.

There was no response. Allie strode farther in, glancing around, but Mr. Doyle wasn't up on a ladder anywhere or frisking through boxes. They ventured into the other rooms, but these were devoid of life as well.

A frown creased Allie's face. "Did he… leave somewhere?"

Rob stopped as he peered through the last doorway. "Well he couldn't have gone far. Otherwise he would've locked the place… Mrs. Doyle wouldn't let him hear the end of it if something got stolen."

"That's true," Allie agreed. Then, at an afterthought, she bit her lip. "Unless he just doesn't care anymore."

They kept walking about the tables, sweeping their gazes over the familiar inventory, until finally they reached the very back of the shop. Here the space was more cluttered and disorganized, and in the far corner there were several desks and shelves cleared for Mr. Doyle's personal equipment – round glass vessels with long thin necks, beakers, mortars, and scales.

Allie surveyed the mess with a wince. She approached one of the writing desks beside the window, which held several leafy plants and a stack of books, bearing titles like ' _The Sceptical Chymist'_ and ' _Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica'._ "Mrs. Doyle must _really_ be giving him trouble. Look at this, it looks like he's completely migrating over here."

Rob nodded. "Aye. Suppose he'll be fitting a furnace in next..."

"But surely she wouldn't kick him out of the house completely," Allie responded, more to herself. "If the shop's running smoothly, who's to say he can't experiment in his free time?"

Rob shrugged. "Well, from what I gathered last week, his wife was having enough of it. I suppose he'd rather move his lab here than see it get raided and pillaged." He smirked and chuckled to himself, likely at the mental image this called up.

Allie surveyed her memories of the conversation she and Rob had listened in on. That time it had been her turn to plan the mission, and they had snuck up to the shop in the late evening just as Mr. Doyle had been having a heart-to-heart chat with a client who had expressed benign surprise at the recent extension of his opening hours. If Mr. Doyle was willing to spend entire nights here instead of going home, then the situation had to be serious. Allie had been determined to find out more, but then, of course, her and Rob's little mishap had happened, and they hadn't dared to come back since.

Presently, her eyes went to an alcove in the far wall, which revealed a solitary door, slightly ajar. "Maybe he fell asleep in his office?" She approached the door and gave it a tentative knock. There was no response, so she pushed it open and let it swing out to reveal a small square office space, with a single window and a desk to the right. Mr. Doyle's chair was moved slightly aside and his coat and hat were gone from the hanger stand.

She glanced over to the other side of the room, where the worktable was, dominated by a large metal stand that held a number of glass beakers filled with green- and lavender-colored liquids. The surface around them was littered with quills and papers. At the top was a letter penned in the shopkeeper's fancy script, but it was unfinished, the parchment creased and stained with splotches of the green and lavender in several places. Allie carefully flipped it over to see the reverse side, where he had scrawled a London address along with a name: _Martin Folkes, The Royal Society._ Then she flipped it back to read the text.

_Sir,_

_It gives me great pleasure to finally write to you concerning the results of the experiment I had mentioned in my last correspondence. Given the fact that plants are highly phlogisticated, in fact possessing the highest combustibility among the commonly-encountered substances, I considered it worth investigating whether the quantity of phlogiston within plant-based dyes may be reduced, namely through a_

The rest was blank.

Rob approached with a frown. "What's he got there?"

"He was writing to the Royal Society," Allie remarked. She put the letter down and took a closer look at the test tubes. Many of them had objects submerged into the liquid – one with long feathers, another with squares of paper, a third with tiny wooden cubes. "And it seems he's still doing that experiment with the dyes."

"So we didn't ruin it completely?" Rob said.

Allie shrugged. "Not sure." She swiveled around, inadvertently bumping the table with her sword and causing the test tubes to rattle. She clamped her hands over her mouth.

"Watch it!" Rob said.

Allie steadied the sword and flashed him a death glare. _"You_ watch it! You and your stupid swords!"

"You're not a pirate if you don't have swords!" Rob retorted.

"Real pirates use _real_ swords, not wooden ones!"

"Well if you want to get seized by the naval guards, then be my guest, get us some!"

Allie clenched her hands into fists. "We were on the verge of getting seized already, all thanks to your beloved attention to detail! Ships and guards and dances, perhaps we ought to get drunk in a tavern next!"

"Stow it!" Rob shouted at last. "I got us away from them! You ought to be thanking me!"

Allie scowled at him, wanting to retort but also too fed up to argue further. She walked away from the table in a huff. In the meantime, Rob weighed the spyglass in his hand. "Maybe we should just hide it here somewhere and go…"

But all of a sudden, the front door slammed closed, and a beat of rushed footsteps entered the shop. The voice of Mr. Doyle rose up in angered mumbles.

"… who in the seven hells he thinks I am… I am a philosopher and a curator _,_ not his God-damned _servant!"_ There was a _thunk_ as he lowered something down onto one of the tables in the back room.

Seconds later, the office door flew open and Mr. Doyle barged in. He was a man of around thirty years, in a wiry gray wig and drab overcoat, breathing heavily from a long walk. He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice Allie and Rob for a good few seconds, who had backed away against the worktable. The man hung up his coat and hat and turned around, and when his eyes landed on them he gave a jump.

Allie clasped her hands behind her back at once and turned to the side, hiding her sword. Rob flashed a smile and lifted his hand in a wave. "Hello, Mr. Doyle!"

Seconds later, Allie and Rob were both grabbed by the arms and shoved out of the office.

"Apparently the two of you can't read!" Mr. Doyle shouted, rounding on them. "Get out! Now!"

Allie staggered back, lifting her arms for balance. "Mr. Doyle, it was an accident! We didn't know how important those mixtures were to you, we swear it!"

"Is it really worth inconveniencing scores of innocent townspeople on a daily basis just to get rid of us?" Rob added.

Doyle stomped towards them and gave them both another push. His face had flushed a livid red and his jaw was trembling. "You…" He continued to advance on them, and they shrunk back through the room with each step. "Do you have… the slightest… _inkling_ of an idea… what your little 'accident' cost me?!"

"We didn't mean to!" Rob cut in.

"I was a hair's breadth away from uncovering a vital property of the substance responsible for combustion!" Doyle shouted. "Before Young Rear Admiral Knows-It-All and Little Miss Grabs-Everything-She-Bloody-Sees decided to barge in one fine sunny morning and rehearse for the apocalypse!" He drew them back against another table, hands clenching into fists. "And now because of you, my chances of being recognized by the Royal Society have turned to ash! My chance to become a scholar, gone! My prospects of being invited to London – _gone!_ I now have nothing to show the Fellows after all our correspondence, and as a result I will be a laughingstock both in Europe and here, in this sweltering hell, where I will be stuck till the end of my days fetching customers' returns like a blasted house servant!"

Allie's gaze darted to the desk clock Mr. Doyle had been carrying, then back at the shopkeeper. "Well why don't you allow us to help you, then, sir? Rob and I could easily lend a hand, with whatever you tell us!"

Rob's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes, yes! Mr. Doyle, sir, it would be perfect! Just think – we could keep stock of your inventory and sales on the business side of things, and we could also help with your experiments and tend to your equipment! We'll be your apprentices!"

"No thank you, I have already seen the kind of help your hands are good for!"

Rob's smile faltered for a look of indignation. "Well then you shouldn't have been leaving out your test tube stand right in the middle of the shop where all your customers could run into it!"

"My customers _walk!"_ Doyle retorted. "They don't chase each other around, they don't fall to the floor, and they don't grab and handle my wares like wild apes!"

"I hadn't grabbed for the test tubes, sir, I slipped!" Allie cried. "You had just polished your floor, it's never happened to me before, surely you remember!"

"Oh yes, I remember everything perfectly! I remember one dented telescope, two cracked globes, two shattered teacups from the royal household that can never be replaced, and countless hours interrupting my business and accosting my clients! I've had _enough_ of you two devil spawn!"

Allie's mouth gaped. "Devil spawn?!"

"Shall I send for the militia?" Doyle said. "Or shall you leave by yourselves?"

By now she and Rob were teetering in the doorway to the front room, hanging on to the doorframe for dear life. At last Rob let go, straightening, and adopted an earnest, conciliatory expression. "Wait, Mr. Doyle, sir. Please. We acknowledge our faults. We robbed you of a considerable amount of money and time and you have every right to be angered with us. Allow us to please compensate you, at least for a portion of it. How about we'll give you this brand new spyglass, free of charge? I'm sure it'll sell for ten shillings at the very least, perhaps even more if you pretend it's an antiq–"

_"Get out!"_

Rob scurried back. "I'll just leave it here, then, Mr. Doyle, all right?" He lowered the spyglass onto a bookshelf, then whirled around and bolted out the door. Allie hurried in his wake, but Mr. Doyle snatched up the spyglass and chased after them. He burst out onto the street.

"Help!" he called. "Burglars! Ruffians!"

"Bloody liar!" Allie screamed, but Rob grabbed her arm and pulled her into a run.

They ran away from the shop together, headed back up the street and making another turn to return to their previous course. The tall clock tower of the main square rose up into view, chiming eleven hours. Allie glanced over her shoulder, where Mr. Doyle was running after them.

"Blast it! He's following us! And he's got the spyglass!"

"Not for long!" Rob grasped the hilt of his sword. "Draw!"

Allie's heart hammered, a wave of both thrill and fear rising up inside her. But she did as he commanded, slowing to a stop beside him, and in a single motion she turned around and drew the sword from her belt.

Mr. Doyle's eyes widened in shock and he skid to a stop. The wooden swords were pale and toy-like, but admittedly Rob had done a good job – the blades were straight and well-balanced, and though they likely wouldn't withstand a hard blow, holding hers by the hilt rekindled – for a moment – the immense gravity and awareness she had felt holding the real thing.

Rob stepped forward, brandishing his sword at the shopkeeper. "Give it here! Now!"

"Why you little –!" Mr. Doyle gave a few nervous stomps, holding his ground, but as Allie and Rob advanced, fear seemed to win over rage and he turned to flee.

"Stop him!" Rob called.

Allie ran forward and overtook Mr. Doyle, swinging out her sword to block his way. The shopkeeper flinched back and darted off in the other direction, where Rob was waiting.

"Hand it over, or we'll take it!" Rob said.

Doyle snarled at him and flicked the spyglass into the air. Rob jumped back to catch it, after several frantic slips and tosses finally managing to retain his hold on it. Doyle made to run back in the direction of the shop, but right then two figures dressed in red and black appeared from behind a corner and collided with him. The trio tumbled to the ground in a heap of hats and muskets, Mr. Doyle giving a cry and the two Company guards shouting in unison: "The children! The children!"

Allie gasped, rapidly sheathing her sword and raced after Rob.

They reached the end of the street and burst into the main square, Port Royal's teeming center point. Businesses and official buildings stood in a densely-packed circle, carriages and pedestrians moving along the roundabout street and the numerous alleyways that radiated out from it like the sun's rays. A bit of rain had passed through earlier that day, leaving the stone roofs darkened and the dirt street covered in soggy patches.

Allie and Rob dove in, ignoring angered shouts from drivers as they cut straight across the thoroughfare. The two Company guards and Mr. Doyle emerged in hot pursuit seconds later, but Allie no longer paid them any mind – her eyes were fixed on a narrow alley all the way on the other side of the square, which would swerve to the right and take them up the hills to safety.

Rob ran for the clock tower, which stood amid a large flower garden on an island of pavement to the right. Allie hobbled after him, dodging muddy potholes, feeling her flat shoes rub painfully against her heels. At last she reached the paved island and managed to pick up her pace, aiming to catch up with Rob. But when she reached the street on the other side, her foot came down on the hem of her dress again and she went careening forward.

"Aah!"

Allie fell with a shriek, landing with a splash on her hands and knees and realized she had landed right in the middle of a pothole. The mud sloshed over the entire front of her dress, soaking through her shawl and spraying up to her elbows. She blinked half-blindly through her hair, glimpsing Rob as he fled towards the alleyway. She scrambled to get up, but the blade of her sword had stuck itself like a stake into the mud, and the skirt of her dress had taken on what seemed like a ten-ton weight. She flailed about, heart hammering in panic. "Rob! ROB! Help me!"

Rob looked back. "Keep to the Code!" he called.

"HANG THE CODE, I CAN'T MOVE!" Allie screamed. "HELP ME NOW, YOU TRAITOROUS COCKROACH, OR I WILL BRING YOU A WORLD OF PAIN!"

She heard Rob's groan. _"Fine!"_ Moments later he was at her side, pulling her up by the wrists. Little by little, the pothole surrendered its grasp and Allie was back on her feet. She turned to see the two Company guards, who were weaving their way through the crowds with more resolve now, a bewildered Mr. Doyle rushing after them.

Rob pulled her after him, and they ran into the alleyway, now holding hands. But all of a sudden a flash of red and white cut them off.

"Hold it right there!"

Allie screamed as she came face-to-face with a marine. Several more poured in, making to encircle them, and they fled back to the square. Rob pulled her on towards the clock tower again, but without warning they were met by a sudden smack from a living wall as the two Company guards collided with them. Arms caged them in, and Allie felt the shorter guard's large hand grasp her wrist while the taller one held onto Rob.

"We have a few questions to ask you two!" the shorter one said.

Allie struggled in vain against their grip. "No! Please, sir, we're innocent, let us go!"

"The spyglass!" said the taller one. "Where is it?"

"Sir, it wasn't us, we don't know anything!" Rob said.

The marines approached, led by the officer who had sighted them near the market. They encircled the trio in a fence of red coats, pointing their muskets. The children's struggles instantly ceased and they peered down at the sharp bayonets with fearful eyes.

The officer stepped through towards them, hands folded behind his back. He nodded to the Company guards. "Thank you, men." His eyes locked on Allie and Rob. "I believe that's enough plundering for a week, don't you think?"

"Please, sir, we didn't do anything," Rob repeated.

"What are your names?" the officer asked.

"Robert and Alice Wilson, sir," Allie said.

"Where do you live?"

Allie and Rob were silent. "We're orphans," Rob bit out at last.

The officer ran a skeptical gaze over their clothing. "Really?" He turned, looking askance, just as two marines came up escorting a frazzled Mr. Doyle, who was brushing dirt off his waistcoat with angry motions.

"Do you perhaps know these children, sir?" asked the officer. "They claim to be orphans."

Mr. Doyle looked at them, and Allie bored her gaze into his, transmitting as much pleading and urgency through it as she could muster. Mr. Doyle scowled and scoffed. "No they're not. They're Robert and Alice Swann. The Governor's grandchildren."

A leaden weight plunged through Allie's chest like a sinking cannonball. She exhaled, as all her exhaustion and dismay washed over her in a wave, and let her head droop.

: : : : : : : :

They were marched up the hill towards the house in a slow tempo, the two EITC guards holding them by the arms and the marines surrounding them in a semicircle. It had been the most humiliating five minutes Allie had ever endured. Her cheeks burned, her hands were clammy, and it felt like she could still feel the people on the main square collecting in groups to stare at them. On top of that, the image of Mr. Doyle's face swirled around in her mind, bringing flares of hurt and rage.

The officer walked ahead of them at a calm pace, hands folded behind his back. Soon, the gates of the Swann residence came into view, and a slim figure of a soldier rushed towards them from the inside. Walter. Allie bit her lip, feeling a sudden swell of guilt, and fought to push it down.

Walter remained still as the party approached, his expression mildly confused. Then he spotted her and Rob at the center and his eyes widened in shock. "What on Earth…?"

The officer approached. "Good day, sir. We are here to return one Robert Swann and one Alice Swann to their point of departure. And if you could please alert the governor."

Walter's gaze flickered to the officer, then back to Allie and Rob. He gave a nod. "Certainly."

He opened up the gates and let them through to the house. The marines and officer marched on without emotion, though the two Company guards escorting Allie and Rob cast several glances at Walter's uniform, which was identical to theirs.

"… the Company!…" one of them whispered.

"… here too?…"

Walter ascended the steps to the double doors and rapped on them with one of the brass knockers. Moments later, their butler answered.

"If you could call the governor," Walter said. "The children are home..."

The elderly man retained a cool expression as usual, though he glanced at Allie and Rob with a telling lift of the eyebrows before withdrawing inside. A moment later came Weatherby himself, in his customary long gray wig, looking tired.

The officer saluted. "Good day, Governor. I am Lieutenant Leslie of the Royal Navy. My men and I spotted these children horseplaying by the docks. Most recently they stole a brass spyglass from the _Seagull_ and discarded it as we pursued them. One Mr. Doyle identified them as your… grandchildren, sir."

The officer's apprehensive pause hung in the air almost like a question. Weatherby gave a sigh and acknowledged it with a lethargic nod. "Thank you, Lieutenant. They've been missing since morning." He beckoned. "Please, come inside."

The two EITC guards hesitated, but went on to lead the dirt-covered Rob and the still-dripping Allie into the house, leaving trails of mud on the stone tiled floor.

Weatherby paced off to the side, and the lieutenant followed him with a renewed resolve. "Governor Swann, I recommend that these children be prohibited from visiting the docks in the future. Apart from the spyglass, they were noted to have stolen numerous other objects from merchant crates this past week. While the items were small and of little value, sir, it is definitely not a practice to be encouraged."

Weatherby nodded briskly. Another silence stretched, and Allie was getting the feeling that he simply wanted to dismiss everyone from his presence and retreat into his study. But right then, a door slammed upstairs and a new voice issued down from the staircase. "Father? What's happened? What's going on?"

Allie looked up, feeling a rush of anxiousness and fatigue. It was her mother. She was wearing a pearl white house dress, strands of her long hair hanging down her shoulders. Evidently she had been in the process of putting it up. But as soon as her gaze found Allie's dress, her expression became etched with horror and she rushed down the stairs. " _Allie!_ Rob!" Elizabeth touched Allie's shoulders, then Rob's, her gaze shifting frantically between them. "What happened to you? Where _were_ you?"

"We were out playing, Mum," Rob said. "We didn't know it would take so long."

Elizabeth slammed her eyes closed and gave a little moan. She pressed both hands to her forehead.

At this point, Weatherby turned around to face them. "Quite frankly, I'm tired of this. If you play like pirates, you will be hanged like pirates. Is that what you want?"

Allie lowered her head. "No."

"I'm assuming you still have the items you stole."

Rob nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Where?"

"In the small wooden box in our study."

Weatherby went upstairs and came down moments later with a dark wooden box. "This one here?"

"Yes, sir," said Rob.

Weatherby opened the box to reveal a small pile of trinkets – a pocket watch, a mouth organ, several beads, and coins. He handed it to Rob, along with a drawstring pouch, and Rob dutifully scooped all the items inside and handed it to the lieutenant.

The lieutenant gave a little bow to Weatherby. "Thank you, Governor."

Weatherby nodded. "And thank you as well. I will see to it that the children are disciplined."

The lieutenant saluted. "Sir." With that, he called to the marines and they all filed out of the house. The two Company soldiers lingered for a moment longer, then they saluted to Weatherby as well and left after them.

Once the butler had closed the door, Rob cast Allie a spiteful glance. "Told you we should have kept to the Code," he muttered.

"So I could let them catch me?" Allie hissed back.

"Yes! Then you could have lied!"

Allie grumbled.

Weatherby looked down to the box in Rob's hands. "I do hope that was all you stole."

"It was," said Rob in earnest.

"But you also stole a spyglass," Weatherby said. He turned to Elizabeth. "Did you hear? The officer said they also stole a spyglass, from the merchant _Seagull,_ right when it had been in the middle of unloading its shipment!"

Elizabeth's mouth thinned to a line and she put her hands on her hips. She looked away at the floor and began to rapidly tap her foot.

Allie rushed to explain. "But the crewmen dropped the crate and nearly all of them broke! They wouldn't have sold them anyway!"

"It doesn't matter!" Weatherby said. "That is a decision for the merchants and buyers to make, not you two!" But his kindling rage exhausted itself moments later and he shook his head. "Not to mention the fact that you've just humiliated me before my own men. Who knows who that lieutenant could mention this to? Then word will get out that the governor has two grandchildren who disregard nearly every rule he expects his town to follow… But never mind me, why indeed would someone want to think about me?" Weatherby shook his head again, continuing to pace around aimlessly, and midway his gaze found Allie and Rob again, trailing down to the swords still strapped to their waists. He squinted slightly. "What are those?"

Allie glanced off to the side. "Swords…"

"Where did you get them?"

"We made them," Rob mumbled.

Weatherby's forehead creased deeper. This time he did not even bother to ask; he took a breath and merely beckoned with his hand. "Give them here. Now."

After a pause, Allie and Rob both unsheathed the swords and handed them to Weatherby. Rob flipped his around politely, delicately grasping the blade and proffering the hilt. But this gallant gesture of propriety was lost on their grandfather, who simply grabbed both swords by the middle of the blades and stacked them in his arms. "Right. We will speak about this later. For now, stay where you are. I'll get the baths ready." He went up the stairs.

Elizabeth stood still as he left, gazing down at the same floor tile, and once Weatherby was gone, she straightened and looked squarely at Rob. Her mouth thinned into a flat line as she held out her hand. "Give it to me."

Mutely, Rob removed the spyglass from within his coat and handed it to her. Elizabeth examined it, turning it over in her hands and giving nods of mock appraisal, then looked back at them.

She could deliver an entire scolding like this, without a single word being exchanged. Her gaze had a mystical power of reading Allie's thoughts, and what more in such a way that it was never missed on Allie. But of course, as the laws of nature dictated, the connection did not work both ways. So Allie was stuck biting her lip, watching her mother for any sign of fluctuations and hoping that the brewing outburst wouldn't be a powerful one. But with all the recently-transpired taken into account, along with the fact that she and Rob had gone to bed washed and tidy and were now covered in dirt and mud, Allie didn't think there was a strong likelihood.

Elizabeth kept a measured expression as she eyed them, only the corner of her mouth turning down. She began to tap her foot again.

"We're sorry, Mum!" Allie blurted out at last.

Elizabeth gave a sigh and turned away on her heel. "If you want to be pirates…" she strode over to a table and placed the spyglass down, "… at least make an effort to be _intelligent_ ones. The docks are not a place for fun and games, _especially_ when those games involve you waving around wooden swords and pillaging merchant crates." She came back to them, hands on her hips. "Those Navy men guard us and keep us safe. If Port Royal were ever to be attacked, they would rush to defend us without the slightest hesitation. They would throw themselves into the line of fire and give their lives for ours. So I think we owe it to them to respect their daily duties and not force them to go out of their way to hunt for us."

Rob lowered his head. "Yes, Mum…"

"And those merchant crews," Elizabeth continued. "They spend months at sea, traveling thousands of miles, risking life and limb to deliver shipments to people they'll probably never even meet. They delivered your books, your clothes, much of the food you eat, and the materials that helped build this house. Now imagine if someone decided to steal those things from you one day, just because they thought it would be fun. Would you like that?"

Allie shook her head. "No."

After a brief pause, Rob lifted his gaze. "But we would have put that spyglass to good use. Whereas the merchants would have just thrown it away and called it a loss of capital. We did it for a good purpose. _That's_ what matters, isn't it?"

Elizabeth pressed her lips together. "No, what matters is choosing a noble purpose along with the proper means towards achieving that purpose. But from what I've gathered, your goal wasn't so much the spyglass as it was merely the thrill of stealing something and getting away with it." She lifted her eyebrows at them. "Am I wrong?"

Allie and Rob were silent for a long time before Rob gave an almost inaudible murmur. "No…"

"Precisely," Elizabeth crossed her arms.

At last Allie could no longer resist and the question tore its way out of her. "But isn't that's what pirates do, Mum?"

The confusion of Allie's tone rang in the air. In response, Elizabeth's expression became a mix of vexation and thoughtfulness. She lowered her head and began to pace back and forth. "Pirates…" she said at last, "come in different breeds. They choose their kind of life for different reasons. Much like all men choose their occupations for different reasons. The reasons you gave me for your actions today do not justify those actions. In fact, there is very little that would justify you two plundering the harbor, especially when you do it at the expense of your safety and of your grandfather's position as a respectable figure in this town." She stopped and looked them both in the eye. "Do _not_ let this happen again."

"We won't, Mum…"

Elizabeth nodded. "Good." Moments later, her gaze flickered towards the stairs, where Estrella and Maria were hurrying down with towels. "Now go get cleaned up," she said. "Your teachers will be here soon." She took the spyglass from the table and left.

Face grim, Allie turned to Rob and gave a salute. "We pillaged, we plundered, we hid and got found. We bothered poor chemists and fell to the ground. Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me."

Rob crinkled his nose and scowled. "Stow it."

Allie turned away from him and crossed her arms, and moments later the maids whisked them upstairs.

: : : : : : : :

Murtogg and Mullroy followed a few paces behind the Navy men as the house guard escorted them all towards the gate. Once they reached it, the house guard opened it, and the lieutenant gave a final salute before departing with his marines. All the while, Mullroy continued to feel the remnants of that strange nervousness that had settled in after they had captured the children. It was making his heart quicken and his hands shake, a mix of both panic and thrill. He couldn't remember the last time he had had to chase someone like that.

He and Murtogg hung back for a moment as the Navy men left down the hill, then turned back and looked at the guard. The guard tilted his head in response and leaned against the fence. He had dark brown hair and a smooth face; he couldn't have been much older than they were. Yet there was a certain gravity about him and a sharpness in his gaze.

For a while the trio stood in place, looking at each other's identical uniforms.

"Company?" Murtogg spoke up at last.

The guard nodded. "Walter," he said. "Surname's not important."

Murtogg nodded, smiling in reflex. "Mine's Murtogg." He gave a comic shrug. "Name's not important."

Mullroy felt this stir a strange, forlorn feeling somewhere inside him, and Murtogg's smile faded a moment later as well.

The guard named Walter continued to eye them, one hand casually resting on the engraved buckle of his cross-belt. "You both sail?"

"We used to," Mullroy responded. "Now we're on harbor duty."

An understanding smile traced up the man's face. "I'm on guard duty."

"Seems peaceful," Mullroy remarked.

Walter shrugged a shoulder. "Sailing was never really my cup of tea."

Now Murtogg frowned. "Then why did you join the Company?"

"There's plenty to do on land," Walter replied. "That's where the real work happens, after all. You deal with people directly. You experience the effects of the Company's trade directly."

Mullroy pondered this in silence.

At that point the guard grasped a bar of the open gate. "I have to see you out. It's the rules."

"All right, then," Mullroy said.

They went along as Walter led them outside the property, after which he swung the gate closed behind them and twisted a key in the large iron lock. Murtogg turned to Mullroy, giving a quick glance back at the house. "Come to think of it, I didn't even know the governor had grandchildren," he murmured.

"Well, his daughter married the blacksmith, didn't she?" Mullroy replied.

Murtogg blinked a few times, thinking this over. "Then where's the blacksmith?"

Mullroy was silent. He realized he didn't have an answer to the question. At that point he noticed that Walter was still standing there, looking at them through the bars. Mullroy gave a small smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to intrude."

Walter sighed slightly, gaze drifting off to the side. He gave a nod. "Pleasure meeting you both… Chins up, I'm sure you'll be able to sail again in due time. Important thing is to persevere." He looked back at Mullroy and lifted his eyebrows matter-of-factly. "And try to chatter less."

With that, he turned and went back into the house.


	3. The Rulers of Port Royal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long this one took me. >.< As I mentioned in a comment, the problem is I was been busy with classes and had a lot of self-study to do. I promise the next one won't take nearly as long to post.
> 
> A couple things I wanted to mention:
> 
> \- The last chapter was a bit of an anomaly in terms of length. I'm expecting most of these early chapters to be around the length of this one, which is easier to write for me. This won't affect the story at all; it'll just be how I split scenes. Later ones might get longer again.
> 
> \- I've decided to give the chapters titles. It's more interesting this way and I thought of a few that are too fitting not to include.
> 
> With that said, thanks to everyone who's still reading and I'll keep the updates coming!

Allie and Rob were taken to separate rooms and ushered into bathtubs, where during the course of the next hour the mud and dirt was scrubbed off of them, the tangles in their hair wrested out with combs, and the raw sores on Allie’s heels rubbed with salt. In the meantime Estrella and the butler whisked off their soiled clothing, including Rob’s beloved blue coat which he overheard them mutter was prime for replacing.

The ordeal was concluded with the two of them being changed into fresh clothes, then they were sent to the parlor with a bowl of fruit. Rob reclined with it on the sofa while Allie took her seat at the piano by the window and gave the keys a few practice strums. No longer muddy or in a torn dress, she resembled a fine young lady, her posture straight and her hand motions deft and precise. She began to play some scales, the notes resonating through the room.

Rob sat with his elbow on a pillow, half listening to her, half debating on whether or not to eat the additional grape he was twiddling around in his fingers. The anxious jitters left over from their hectic chase and capture had settled down, and the memories had already acquired a distant feel to him, like something that had happened on a previous week. The day went on, and so, inevitably, did his mind. Pending was a calculus examination he hadn’t prepared for. Then a formal introduction to his grandfather’s secretary, his soon-to-be mentor at Port Royal’s government office. Soon he would have a whole year of work under him to look forward to, penning letters and helping him with his administrative duties like a proper citizen.

Rob sighed, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. It was pale blue with a white trim, glowing with tiny shards of daylight refracted from the crystal chandelier. Then he looked at the grape again, colored a deep purple, and was suddenly struck by how remarkable it was that nature could produce such vibrant hues. What enabled a red flower to grow out from a green stem? And why were there no green flowers, or red leaves? In such moments he wished he hadn’t been so reckless with botany two years ago; his teacher had told him he had had the makings of a good scholar, perhaps even a doctor. But Rob hadn’t liked the thought of studying diseases and cutting people up.

Dimly he thought back to Mr. Doyle’s makeshift laboratory, at all the bottles and books and plants desperately shoved in among his wares. The man had taken a fall from his former state, that was for sure. Scarcely three years ago he had been almost kind, and had even been a guest at one of his grandfather’s social galas. He had been avid, but not obsessed.

Yet even so, there was a hint of truth to be gleaned from it all. Rob figured that if his entire livelihood were shackled to him sitting in a store, he’d go mad too. Perhaps he would design an experiment of his own someday and write to the Royal Society as well. That would get him a ticket aboard a ship. Across the ocean… to the next continent and beyond.

He looked at the grape some more, then after a moment more of debate, he popped it into his mouth. But a feeling of dissatisfaction still panged at his stomach. It wouldn’t do. He wanted some real food.

At last, Allie’s music teacher arrived - a plump, happy-go-lucky man with a long wig that made him look like Leibniz. He greeted Allie with a tip of the hat, popping open his large book of sheet music, and the two began to exchange light, friendly conversation. This was usually Rob’s signal to go, though in the past he had watched her practice, snickering to himself whenever she got frustrated or clapping loudly whenever she paused to distract her. But the teacher would always make him leave.

Presently, Rob stood up of his own accord, strolling out of the room just as Allie began to play one of her standard practice pieces. The sounds resonated through the parlor and followed him to the main hall.

He strolled past the front door, where he saw Walter sitting on a chair. The guard was hunched over his boots, scrubbing them with a cloth.

Rob slowed to a stop and gave a salute. “Morning, Walter.”

The guard’s gaze went over to a clock atop the cupboard. “Technically it’s the afternoon.”

Rob glanced over to it. The hour hand was nearly at XII, the minute hand an inch shy of top-center. “No it’s not. Not precisely, at least.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s certainly been an _eventful_ one,” Walter responded. “First you and Allie vanish from your beds, Samuel and I scourge the entire property in panic searching for you, then you two come back looking like you’ve been caught in a storm. And then I had to deal with the chaos in town and wade through crowds of people pushing and shoving their way through the government building like livestock.”

Rob looked closer at the guard’s boot and saw he was trying to rub off a large white stain. “Why, what happened? Were you doing something for Grandfather?”

Walter exhaled through his nose. “Yes, in fact, I was delivering your mail. Your grandfather wrote your official placement letter for the apprenticeship.” He bit his lip in frustration, still rubbing the boot. “Then I came out and stepped into a puddle of _paint.”_

Rob chuckled. Walter stubbornly kept rubbing, and a question bubbled up in his mind. “So… what did he say about me?”

Walter looked up at Rob with a mix of incredulity and exasperation. “I’m not telling you!”

Rob lowered his chin, returning the guard’s gaze with a matter-of-fact look. “Really, Walter. If Grandfather wanted to keep his letters secret, he wouldn’t always be having you write them for him.”

Walter narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips into a pout. “For your information, your grandfather dictates his letters to me out of necessity, not because he doesn’t care. Doubtlessly you’ve noticed that his eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

Rob’s mouth turned upwards into a hopeful, suggestive grin. “Well, he also has a tendency not to hear us if we whisper!”

“ _No.”_

“Please, Walter?” Rob pleaded.

Finally Walter let the rag droop from his hand with a breath. He stole a few glances at the doorways and up the staircase, then leaned forward in a confiding murmur. “He said you were a good, smart, capable boy. You do have a tendency to jump to conclusions and take advanced subjects lightly, but all-around he has no doubt that you will make a great administrator one day.”

Rob felt a flicker of pride. Then he processed the rest carefully, tapping a finger against his chin. “So I jump to conclusions? Hm. I wouldn’t think so…”

Walter shrugged a shoulder. “Not my words.”

He went back to cleaning, and Rob tilted his head to the side, a new thought forming in his mind. “Say, Walter, do you happen to know anyone who sails? Someone from the Company, perhaps, who’d be willing to give us a tour of a ship?”

“First of all, I don’t know any of the sailing crews here, and second of all, the fact that I asked would be of practically no help to you since I’m not a part of those crews.”

“Who _d_ _o_ you know, then? Just Samuel?”

“Don’t you have a mathematics lesson to prepare for?” Walter countered.

“I want to eat first.”

“I don’t think the cooks have anything ready yet. The food from morning’s long gone, too. You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ll manage something,” Rob assured him. “Good luck with your boots.”

Walter gave a grumble in response.

Rob went on to the dining room, where he ran into Estrella and asked if she could prepare him a snack. Minutes later she brought him a sandwich and a cup of tea, with a secret wink slipping him some chocolate cake at his request. She ruffled his hair and went off. Rob enjoyed his meal, listening to the melodic rise and fall of Allie’s piano playing, and went back up the stairs with a spring in his step.

Despite the house’s sprawling exterior, it had rather few rooms, so he and Allie had to share a study. It was located between his bedroom and hers and was roughly double their size. His side on the right had a large wooden desk with papers and quills, along with a globe he liked to spin around idly. His three bookshelves were stuffed to bursting – treatises and academic books mixed with novels and journals, many of which lay on their sides for lack of space. He also had three model ships, which stood among the paper mess as if plowing through a stormy sea.

To the left was Allie’s half of the room, with a desk like his and a sofa she liked to lie on when reading. Her bookshelves were almost a mocking contrast to his, everything straight and clean and alphabetized. She had a model ship as well, a two-masted sloop, to which she had sewn a pirate flag of her own design that she tactfully lowered when visitors came. On the middle ground between the two sections lay a map of Port Royal, their writing and painting materials scattered about.

Rob knelt beside the map and looked it over. The various areas of Port Royal had been divided up with two colors, one green for Allie and the other blue for him. He found the temporary circle penciled around the eastern half of the harbor and took one of the paintbrushes, dipping it in blue ink and tracing over the line to finalize his selection. He pondered some more over the nearby area and traced a few additional pencil lines.

Once he finished, Rob sat down in his chair, flipping through their pirate journal to record the changes. He had chosen the journal specially due to its dark, tough leather, resembling that of the real Pirate Code their mother had seen with her own eyes. He had carved the book’s inscription into the front with a nail: PYRATE CODEX. Inside the pages were filled with his and Allie’s best calligraphy, detailing rules and events compiled over nearly two years.

Rob took his quill and made the necessary notes to log their mission. He spent a few moments admiring their handiwork, then finally set it aside for his trigonometry textbook. He had mastered most of his teacher’s problems but liked to do them over, discovering solutions he hadn’t thought of before. And for some reason it was his mind’s favorite pastime when he was supposed to be working on his other mathematics subject, namely Newton’s calculus. That book lay somewhat off to the side, its first few sections read but the rest wholly unfamiliar for lack of attention.

Rob ignored it for a while, instead examining diagrams of circles and triangles, before guilt finally won over and he opened the calculus book. _The Method of Fluxions and Infinite Series_ it was called, and his teacher had included leaflets of paper with handwritten questions and commentaries. A true cosmopolitan, he had made Rob read Leibniz’ calculus as well and note the similarities and differences between the two mathematicians’ methods.

Rob ran a hand through his hair as he skimmed over the pages of Newton, searching for a viably familiar entrance point. Finally he summoned up his decisiveness and dove in. Expositions, postulates, proofs…

Some time later, the sounds of Allie’s piano faded, and a chorus of voices and footsteps trailed towards the front door as the music teacher left. Moments later Allie herself waltzed into the room.

“By Jove, what a day. My hands hurt.” But she was energetic and upbeat, closing the door with a dainty finger.

“What’d he say to you?” Rob asked.

Allie hopped onto her sofa and propped a pillow beneath her arm. “Oh, the same, really, just that I’ve been improving and if I keep practicing I’ll knock that audition out like Old One-Tooth-Tommy’s tooth.” She punched at the air for emphasis.

Rob cracked a smile. “Just like Old One-Tooth Tommy’s tooth, savvy, mate?”

Allie grinned. “Aye! I savvy, mate!”

“No, you’re saying it wrong – you don’t savvy something, you ask someone if they savvy. Savvy?”

“Oh, stow it, as if there’s a rule book about it.”

“There _is_ a rule book, as a matter of fact.” Rob held up their pirate code.

Allie squinted. “Liar! The Code doesn’t govern the way pirates talk.”

“Why shouldn’t it? Think of it this way – a pirate’s got to know whom he can trust. If he meets someone who talks funny, not like other pirates, then they’re most likely not one. They’re a soldier come to capture them and hang them.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine.” Her gaze trailed over to the map on the floor. “Speaking of piracy…” She got up from the sofa and went towards it. When she saw what he had done, she did a double-take.“Well, then! I see you’ve already taken care to mark the eastern harbor as yours. Rather quick of you!”

Rob shrugged his shoulders. “What’s the problem? My mission was a success. We got the spyglass and brought it home safely.”

“We got _caught,_ that’s what we did! And Mum’s probably going to have Walter give the spyglass back tomorrow! I’d call that a failure.”

“There’s nothing in the Code about being caught.”

“I’ll add it in, then!”

Rob slapped a hand on his knee. “Changes to the Pirate Code can only be made by unanimous approval of the Court! And I’m not approving!”

“Fine then, the next time you want to make a change, _I_ won’t approve!”

“That’s contempt of the court!” Rob shouted. “Section two, clause eleven!”

Allie threw her head back and let out a groan. She stomped back over to the map. “But your domain is too big now! Whereas I called the lower eastern side of Port Royal and I don’t see my line drawn around it!”

“You haven’t claimed the territory,” Rob replied. “I told you – you can’t be Pirate Lord of Eastern Port Royal until you claim the territory! Plan a mission, make it successful, _then_ I’ll add it to your domain!”

“You never claimed the western harbor either, yet now it’s magically yours!”

“I marked it with pencil lines! That means I’m _going_ to claim it but I haven’t yet!”

“But what if I want to claim it?”

Rob waved a hand in the air. “Be my guest!” He slid the Code aside. “Although seeing as we had an entire regiment chasing us after we stole a single spyglass from the merchant docks, I can’t imagine what’ll happen if we try to do something in the Company section.”

“Then why don’t we do something that _doesn’t_ involve stealing? Ever thought of that for a change?”

“No.”

Allie put her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s why my missions are much better than yours. They’re varied and purposeful.”

Rob scowled. “Yours are boring. All we do is spy on people.”

“At least we finish mine! And we don’t spend days making pretty wooden swords then getting them taken away!”

“You’re not a pirate if you don’t take risks,” Rob said.

“But you’re a dead pirate if you take stupid ones.” Allie began to pace around. “Anyways, what would we even be able to do with them besides look at them?”

Rob shrugged a shoulder. “Spar.”

“Oh please. They’ll snap the minute one of us smites something.”

“Not necessarily. I asked Walter a few days ago and he says there’s a technique that’s especially devised for leaner blades. He might even teach us if we get them back.”

Allie sighed. “Well, that’s probably not going to happen, seeing as Mum doesn’t want us playing pirates.”

Rob reclined in his chair and tapped his fingers together in thought. “No, I believe she said that _if_ we wanted to be pirates, _then_ we should be sensible ones. She only forbade it conditionally. So we’ll just be sensible ones from now on!”

“And how do we do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess we ought to do our missions with a better purpose in mind. Like… making it up to Mr. Doyle. How about next time we go on one of those ships and ask for some empty bottles and give them to him as test tubes?”

A scowl clouded over Allie’s expression and she crossed her arms. “Well, you can do that without me. As far as I’m concerned, if he wants to skulk in that back room for the rest of his life working on experiments that won’t get him anywhere, he can. I’m not making anything up to that lily-livered bilge rat.”

Right then their door opened a notch and Elizabeth poked her head inside. “Who’s a lily-livered bilge rat?”

Allie froze, straightening her face and arms at once. “No one.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes slightly and cocked her head in disbelief. But she let it go and turned to Rob. “Rob, your mathematics teacher is here. He has an examination for you.”

Now it was Rob’s turn to freeze up. He was silent for a second, then managed a nod. “I’ll, er, be out in a moment.”

Elizabeth left, and Allie glanced over at his forgotten mathematics books, lifting a guessing eyebrow. Rob felt his stomach sink as he ambled out of the room.

: : : : : :

Two hours later, Rob, Elizabeth, Weatherby, and his teacher, Mr. Rawlins were sitting in the parlor together. Elizabeth and Weatherby had taken the sofa, Mr. Rawlins one of the armchairs. Rob sat in the other chair, facing him, as well as Walter who stood guard all the way by the door, watching them with an uneasy expression. Rob caught his eye every so often, and the guard would purse his lips in solidarity, but say nothing. Rob was still reeling from shock and exhaustion at the examination he had taken, even more so at the fact that his teacher had graded it right before his eyes.

It was a good thing he had eaten.

“Frankly I confess myself astounded, Miss Swann,” Mr. Rawlins was saying. “These are his worst marks since he started.”

Elizabeth’s tone was measured. “Perhaps… fluxions are too advanced for him.”

Rob knew no one thought this true, but nevertheless felt a surprising swell of hurt inside him. So, he hadn’t done the assigned problems! It had been one time!

 _That’s not true,_ his inner voice responded. He hadn’t skipped just one assignment. He had been doing the bare minimum for months now, just enough to keep up the illusion that he was thinking deeply about the material. He asked Mr. Rawlins questions, copied his solutions, said to himself he would review them, and wouldn’t. And Mr. Rawlins didn’t even check.

It wasn’t his fault the man taught that way!

 _But it is your fault you learn that way,_ the inner voice replied, now with a mocking sing-song tone to it. Rob scowled and mentally told the voice to stow it.

“He is a boy with abilities, there is no doubt about that,” Mr. Rawlins said. “He just doesn’t seem to be applying himself anymore.”

Weatherby cast Rob a glance. “Yes, lately he has become rather _distracted_ with certain things.” The implication sliced through his tone like a knife.

“I can assure you, Governor, Miss Swann,” Mr. Rawlins began, unaffected, “he does not need infinitesimals in order to succeed in administration. It would be a good bonus, but really, he has done so well in algebra and trigonometry already that he would already stand out as a candidate. Such advanced mathematics is more for scholars.”

Elizabeth gave a nod. “In that case, Mr. Rawlins, I believe we should discontinue the calculus lessons.”

This hit Rob like a punch in the stomach. Though on the outside he showed little more than a widening of the eyes.

“I think that would be best as well,” Mr. Rawlins said. “And the time to apprentice him is approaching, too. He will have other things to think about.”

Rob let out a quiet, deflated breath. Leave it to Mr. Rawlins to state things as they were, whether other people liked it or not. Then again, that was likely why he wrote such good proofs.

The matter seemed to be settled at that, and Mr. Rawlins rose with Rob’s mother and grandfather and bowed to them. He turned to Rob. “Of course, Master Swann, if you should ever wish to return to Newton and Leibniz, I would encourage you. But you must remember that you cannot expect results through talent alone. You must have discipline.”

Rob bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. I will remember it.”

“I will return at the end of the month to give your final examination and mail the results to the office,” he said. “You would do well to review algebra and finances.”

“Yes, sir,” Rob said. “Should… I give your calculus books back now, sir?”

Mr. Rawlins nodded. “Yes, please. I think it’s best you don’t distract yourself with them.”

“Right away, sir.” Rob scurried off to his study and collected all of Mr. Rawlins’ calculus materials - Newton, Leibniz, commentaries. In a final burst he opened up the pages and looked over the text, feeling dismay wash over him.

 _You_ _have a philosopher’s mind, Master Swann_ _,_ Mr. Rawlins had said not so long ago. Indeed the man had always seemed to catch on to how Rob’s mind worked and used his interests to get him to understand a concept. It was from him that Rob had first learned, at the wide-eyed age of nine, that sailing was in fact a serious business. Captains didn’t merely stand on deck in fancy hats and sing songs with their crew; they needed thorough knowledge of angles and distances in order to maneuver correctly. Even the lowliest of midshipmen who spent most of their time scrubbing the decks needed to know how to handle the ship and read the skies and waters in order to be taken aboard.

Rob flipped through the pages and pulled out the few notes he had slipped in, excerpts of problems he had solved or explanations he had reworded. All of it for naught now.

He ambled out of the room and descended towards the parlor with the books in hand. Mr. Rawlins accepted them with a nod, gave Weatherby a parting bow, and turned to leave.

Walter opened the parlor doors for him and saw him out, then cast Weatherby a glance. Weatherby nodded, and Walter left the room as requested, though he had probably stationed himself just behind the closed door where he could hear everything that was being said.

A few moments of silence passed, then Elizabeth's and Weatherby’s gazes wandered over to Rob. Weatherby folded his hands behind his back and began to pace around.

“I... do hope you’ve comprehended what your teacher told you,” he said. His words were directed more at the floor, but they reached Rob without a problem.

Rob lowered his gaze. “Yes, sir.”

“If you take your apprenticeship as lightly as you took that examination, then even my name will be of no use to you in society. I understand it is not what you want. But small steps lead to larger opportunities. Should you want to leave in a few years and choose another career, I would assist you by all means. But only after you’ve learned discipline and responsibility. Without those two things, no endeavor can succeed.”

“I understand, sir...”

Weatherby paced away and said nothing else. Rob looked to Elizabeth, but for once he found no refuge in his mother’s glance and no softening words from her mouth. She merely nodded.

“Your grandfather is right, Rob. Our family would not be here in Port Royal if it weren’t for his years of hard work. You must learn how to work as well and achieve things in society yourself.”

Rob gave a meek nod in response. “Yes, Mum.”

Weatherby turned to cast a glance at the clock. He breathed a sigh. “Well, then. I believe it’s time for lunch.”

He and Elizabeth left the room, and Rob trudged out a few moments later, taking a seat in Walter’s empty chair by the door. He had had plenty of things taken away from him in the past – toys, play privileges. But for some reason this felt different.

Moments later, Walter's figure slid out from a corridor adjacent to the parlor, his black Company uniform standing out against the light walls. From the guard’s expression, there was clearly no need for explanation.

He approached, and Rob looked up at him grimly. “How about I’ll be a guard?”

Walter put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t despair. Your teacher even said you didn’t need calculus for an apprenticeship. You could always learn it later.”

Rob leaned his chin on his fist. “I suppose...”

Walter kept looking at him, lifting an eyebrow. He knelt down so that his and Rob’s faces were more or less level and his face acquired a playful sort of calculation. “You know, I distinctly recall you complaining that you’d rather walk on hot coals than read another page of that horrid fluxions book.”

Rob breathed a sigh. “That was when I was having trouble with the problems,” he mumbled.

Walter cracked a smile. “Oh, I see, so it’s a matter of easy being good and hard being insufferable.”

“ _No._ It’s just…” Rob sighed again. “I want to understand it. I really do. I just didn’t have the _time_ to. I wish they’d give me more time, but they won’t!"

“Well, your teacher clearly thinks you have more important things to focus on.”

Rob ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Yes, because _Grandfather_ talked it over with him. He probably even had Mr. Rawlins give me the examination early. I was the victim of an elaborate conspiracy, Walter.”

Walter gave a bellowing laugh, falling back against the wall.

"And now all the work I put in I have to give up," Rob continued. "First these people tell me I'm to take my studies as seriously as a lifetime occupation, and now they tell me it was just practice all along and irrelevant for my future."

Walter grasped Rob's shoulder and shook him like a large doll. "Ey. Nothing is ever wholly irrelevant. And for what it's worth, I think it's a bit too early for you to become a philosopher. Sitting in dusty libraries and arguing with people over who invented what formula first isn't what I'd exactly call an enviable lifestyle."

"Well, priority _is_ important," Rob said. "Calculus is a completely new advancement and could bring completely new results in other fields of knowledge. So whichever of them it was who invented it would be making a great contribution to humanity."

"Why not just say they both did it and settle the matter at that?" Walter said.

Rob gave a neutral shrug of the shoulder. "M-m."

At that point the front door opened and Samuel, their other family guard, came inside. He took off his hat to reveal a mop of red hair and rubbed a film of sweat from his face. “Walter, change.”

Walter did a double-take. “Already?!”

“The sun is scorching. Let’s do it for an hour at a time till dusk, then I promise I’ll take the entire evening.”

Walter’s expression morphed into a pout and he let out a breath. “Fine.”

He stood up, adjusting his hat, and the two guards began to switch roles. Walter collected his musket from the cupboard and slipped on a pair of black gloves, while Samuel hung his hat on the hanger and stowed his musket away. Midway Samuel noticed Rob’s face and frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

“He failed his calculus examination,” Walter said. “He doesn’t need it for his apprenticeship, but the boy’s a bloody perfectionist.”

“Well, what’s the problem, then? You can always go back to the stuff later, Rob, can’t you?”

Rob sighed. “Not anymore. Not while I’m an apprentice. And I don’t even want to be one – administration is boring. I want to sail.”

“You can always sail later,” Samuel said. “Get a foothold somewhere first, then think of where to go from there. But if you haven’t got a foothold, you haven’t got anything.”

“Exactly right,” Walter said. “And believe me, starting your career as an administrator is much better than starting as a midshipman.”

“Isn’t it different in the Company, though?” Rob asked. “I thought you could start at a higher rank depending on your skill.”

Walter shook his head. “No. It’s the same as in the Navy. You start off as the lowest of the low, unless you have references.”

Rob watched him dust the musket for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “Could you and Samuel give me references?”

“I don’t think our word would mean much,” Walter said.

“Why not?”

“Just look around you. Port Royal’s teeming with Company men, but do you notice what the likes of us are doing?”

“Escorting carriages, standing by doors, brushing horses,” Samuel chimed in.

Rob’s eyebrows climbed in disbelief. “But you’re the governor’s personal guards. Surely that’s better!”

Walter gave a smile. “Not by much, Rob. That’s the beauty of it. A rank’s still a rank.”

“And we don’t even sail, anyways,” Samuel said. “You’d want to get in touch with someone who’s part of a crew, or close to a captain.”

“But still, you _used_ to sail,” Rob said.

“Well, you think my captain and crewmates still remember me after twelve years of no contact? Anyhow, I’m happy to stay on land for good. The sea is beautiful, but there’s nothing more beautiful than being free to roam where you please.”

Rob’s mouth gaped. “And you don’t miss it? Not even a little?”

Samuel shrugged a shoulder. “Well, of course, I miss the good days. When the sun’s up and the sea’s calm, it’s a peace and quiet that you can't even imagine. But then you have bad days, when your crewmates fall sick or you get caught in a storm.”

At this, Walter’s expression became grim. “I don’t miss sailing one bit,” he said. “All weather’s the same for me – I get dizzy, everything I eat goes over the railing, then finally I collapse.”

Samuel chuckled, and Rob shook his head in pity.

Samuel turned to him. “The one good thing about the Company is they’re more likely to have something for you to do even if you’re not from a pure sailing background. Get aboard as a botanist or a translator, and from there, it’s only a short step away from learning to be a seaman. But someone has to recognize you for your skills first.”

Walter hoisted the musket in his arm. “And you can only meet someone like that face-to-face if you’ve got a foothold,” he finished. He went to the door, giving Samuel a final cautionary point of the finger. “One hour.”

The door closed behind him with a thud. Samuel strode off into the house, and at that point Rob was called into the dining room. Estrella had set a table for him and Allie with their midday meal. His sister was quiet; she too seemed to have heard what was going on.

They finished eating without the need for words. Allie went up to her bedroom, while Rob ambled over to the study.

He walked in to the sounds of scuffling books, and opened the door in surprise to glimpse Elizabeth. She was rummaging about Rob’s bookshelves, taking out books and wiping them with a cloth.

Rob hesitated, but Elizabeth waved him down. “Don’t worry, I’m only dusting. I’m not rearranging anything.”

Though he and Allie had a strict rule of keeping order in their bedrooms and study themselves, Elizabeth often liked to help out with the latter. She lifted one of his large model ships that she had placed on the floor and handed it to Rob. “Here. I cleaned your ship. The poor _Interceptor_ was running at half-speed from all the dust she was carrying.”

Rob gave a small smile. He looked over the model _Interceptor_ then placed it back on top of his shelf, where her black-and-yellow hull and Union flag stood bright against the wall.

“I do respect the service men, Mum,” he murmured. “Allie and I both do.”

Elizabeth ruffled his hair. “I know you do.”

She lifted several more books from his desk and placed them back into their proper order. Her hand paused when she picked up a manual, and she looked it over, frowning. “Since when did you start whittling for a hobby?”

“It was just to make the swords,” Rob said. “You can make chess figures, too.”

Elizabeth breathed a sigh, though she smiled. “Soon you’ll have no room left here. We’ll have to buy another shelf.”

Rob gave a small shrug in response.

Moments later the door creaked open and Allie walked in. She came to stand beside Rob and looked on silently as Elizabeth continued to clean. At one point Elizabeth paused over Rob’s desk with a frown. She slid over a book and took it into her hands. It was their pirate code.

“What’s this?”

Rob bit his lip. “It’s, ah…”

Elizabeth turned it over to the cover, where the inscription was visible: PYRATE CODEX. She opened it up.

“Designated Keeper of the Code…” she read. “Robert Swann, Pirate Lord of Northwestern Port Royal. Deputy Keeper, Alice Swann, Pirate Lord of Northeastern Port Royal. Interesting.”

Rob and Allie exchanged uneasy glances.

Elizabeth continued to leaf through the pages, which alternated between text and drawings, including maps that had been copied from books and made up. At some points Elizabeth’s eyebrows lifted, then at others they furrowed into a curious frown. Suddenly a laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head, turning the book around to them.

“Shipwreck Cove is _not_ a mile west of the harbor.”

The children sank their heads.

“That’s what we called the cavern beneath the ledge…” Allie murmured. “Because of all the rocks.”

Elizabeth laughed again, covering her eyes with her hand. A strange spell seemed to fall over her, and she leaned against Rob’s desk, her gaze sticking to the book as if absorbed.

At last Rob spoke up. “It was just a game, Mum. We’ll stop. I know it makes you cross.”

Elizabeth looked up. A strange surprised softness flickered across her expression. “Oh, Rob, dear heaven. I’m not cross with you in the slightest. Why would you think that?”

Allie lowered her head. “We don’t do what you tell us.”

Elizabeth placed down the journal and came over to hug them both. She gave them a wink. “Don’t worry. You get it from me.”

She left it there, as she always did.

With that Elizabeth took the dusting cloth made her way to the door. “All right, you two, I’ll leave you alone. And Allie, the tailor will be coming early tomorrow.”

Allie blinked in surprise. “Early? Why?”

“He’ll need more time to have your dress ready. It’ll be done just in time for the opening day.”

“Oh.” Allie’s face went blank for a moment, then she gave a nod. “Yes, Mum.”

Elizabeth smiled at them in parting and left the room. Allie continued facing the window curtains and her face fell into a glum expression. Once again Rob didn’t need to ask – she was in the same position as him. Though she and her music teacher liked to pretend otherwise, everyone knew her music audition was merely a formality.

One by one they retreated to their respective sides of the room, the map on the floor forgotten. Allie began to look over sheet music and some of her drawings, a somber expression on her face. Rob sat down at his desk and began to spin his globe, his gaze spanning across the various landmasses, along with the faint pencil marks he had made – marking the course of his mother’s and grandfather’s voyages, places Walter and Samuel had been, all the real locations he had only known through imagination.


End file.
